


My Dearest, Wilbur

by salinesoot



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Love Letters, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Wilbur’s dead as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salinesoot/pseuds/salinesoot
Summary: someone told you that writing letters helps with grief( so many more works posted on my tumblr > salinesoot )
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Reader
Kudos: 43





	My Dearest, Wilbur

my dearest, wilbur

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. it’s been a month and you’re still dead. ive been hoping that it wasn’t real, that it was one of those times you have to hide away for a month but then you come back and it’s all ok. 

one look at your sullen cheeks and red wound and i realised. you’re not coming back. i took your beanie, i hope you don’t mind? it rests on on my desk, locked in a wooden box. it’s the last thing i have of you, the last memory. 

tommy’s not doing so well, wilbur. he needs you, he needs his big brother to lead him — not just him wil, i need you. how am i supposed to live when you’re not here? when all i can think about is how you’re six feet underground having died for the country that didn’t deserve you.

i guess you were right, ambition was your folly — you were blinded by your need for victory you forgot that you’d already won. we could’ve moved away wilbur, set up a small college on the outskirts. elope. have a baby. grow old.

i miss you, 

your love.

* * *

love,

i got your letter today. the one you’d sent before you died, you speak of victory - of finally realising how this would all end. you knew you were going to die wilbur, you selfish bastard. you died for a country that didn’t love you, i hope you regret your sacrifice. 

sacrifice. that’s what it was, right? you gave up your life for your cause — a martyr, even. you threw away everything, discarded anyone that you loved and had ever loved you like some chipped chess pieces all for the sake of victory. i suppose good things did come from your death - schlatt is dead. tubbo is now the president and technoblade was banished, did you intend this wilbur? was this all part of your master plan? 

tommy has begun hiding his pain. but i see the moments when no one is looking, where he strains for approval in everyone’s eyes — begging for someone to tell him he’s doing good, wilbur would be proud. would you be proud? proud of a boy you left alone and traumatised, his family slowly falling apart. you did this wilbur. 

fundy won’t speak to me anymore, he doesn’t want to think about you — his own father. did you not notice when you were alive, the way your son would avoid you? how he only joined your stupid army to appease a father that had abandoned him and left him to make his own decisions at such a young age? 

forever yours,

your love

* * *

beloved,

tommy is gone. exiled far away, maybe i should go and visit him? no. he doesn’t like to see me, i remind him too much of you. everything’s going to hell wilbur and all i can think of is how much i miss you. god, i miss you so much. 

ive never needed you more than i do now. your son needs a father, your boys need a leader. i need my loverboy. please, wilbur — come back.

sincerely, 

your dove

* * *

wilbur,

he has your eyes. your smile. your face. but he’s not you. he remembers you, what you loved and what made you happy but not who you really were — your ideals and your death. he brought me a rose today, bright blue. he seems to love the colour blue.

he cried cerulean tears when i threw the rose away. he’s not you, wilbur. when i said i wanted you back i meant i wanted you, i wanted your flaws and your memories intact.

tommy calls him ghostbur, i don’t want to call him anything — especially not some knockoff pun of your name. is he really you, wil? were you really given a second chance to love? to live? what kind of existence can it be to not remember the man you were before.

maybe i’ll try to speak to the ghost. i need to get over the burning pain in my heart when i meet his glassy eyes, for my benefit.

i miss you more and more everyday, 

your love. 


End file.
